


The Dance of the Flames

by Icandigelvis



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icandigelvis/pseuds/Icandigelvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his 10th birthday Stan Marsh wanders into the forest, finding himself enchanted by the creatures his mother and the town's people warned about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dance of the Flames

He had heard about _him_. About _them_ , several times as a kid. He had been curious, of course, like a lot of the other children, but Stan also didn’t quite understand the fear some of them felt. When Stan was 5 he remembered climbing into his bed many times, waiting patiently for his mother to finally read him more, tell him the stories. Well, Stan tried to be patient but he convinced himself he was, the way he stared at her with his big eyes, legs jumping on the bed. She would put her hand on his head and mess up his hair before opening the book with a large oak on the front, reading “Adventures for the brave” or she would tie her fingers together, like she was going to pray but then start telling Stan about them. She told him about the forest elves, the sea elves, the fire elves, the house elves, the elves from deep down and the white elves. She would describe them and talk about how humans sometimes stumbled upon these creatures and that they had to be very careful. The elves from deep down you should be cautious about since they would try to trick you but so would the sea elves too.

Stan loved the sea, he would sometimes go fishing with his father and he would be just as exited every time as the float disappear under the surface, or when he feels the fishing line pull on the other end as they would go ice fishing in the winter. Stan would stare down the hole, hoping he would spot an elf swimming around and maybe look at him. Stan was sure they were nice.

His mother would put out his oil lamp when she had finished her story and either Stan had fallen asleep or Sharon was too tried to keep up with Stan’s un-tiredness. She would kiss his forehead and close his door halfway and take a last look around their wooden cottage and Stan liked to think of it as if she was checking if any mythical creatures had sneaked inside and were maybe munching on their food. Stan would sneak out apples and sometimes fish when his parents didn't notice. The elves got it or animals did, Stan was okay with either.

When Stan turned 10 he was running around with his friend in the late-winter, chasing each other and Sparky, his dog. He had a great day and he was so excited to try out his new sleigh tomorrow that his father had gotten him. His mother had knitted another shirt and Stan was fine with it, even though it didn't excite him as much as the sleigh. She had made his favorite food and there was apple pie after and the best part? He was allowed to eat as much as he wanted! Stan didn't throw up afterwards, but he was close a few times.  
But he kept his smile on and pulled through, his family giggling at his forced grin.

He was feeling a lot better as the sun started going lower and his mother was chatting away with his aunt in the kitchen when he put on his boots. His friends and their family had left a few hours ago and Stan had now recovered the stomach ache that was bugging he earlier and he wanted to go outside. The rules were simple though, he was supposed to be inside when the sun hid behind the north mountain, Great Sven. He peeked outside through a small gap when he opened the door slowly. He didn’t spot his father shuffling the snow outside and neither did he hear him. He grabbed his coat and his mittens, his hat already on when he got outside. The snow crunched under his boots and he looked around for his father. He heard logs falling against each other and Stan guessed Randy was on the backyard chopping wood. Stan was still not allowed to touch the axe but his friend Kenny, who usually had to help with the chores at his house, told him he should be glad.

The sun was still up and high over Sven but Stan knew it wouldn’t be for too much long. He made his way through the trees on the west side of their house and passed the Tucker’s place after a few minutes of walking and then it was all forest in front of him. He made his way through the forest and gulped when he saw the sign that said “East Wood”, it meant he was a bit too far out now. He hadn’t been here alone yet, once with a few friends and they got scolded the minute someone noticed them. But Stan felt adventurous, he was 10 now, and the responsibilities were about to start, he knew that. He had to man up, be mature but mostly Stan had to be brave.

So he puffed his chest up and continued by the sign. Soon he heard a stream close by and decided to keep to it, he might even find some fish. He found the small river and drank a bit from it, from the wooden spoon that was always hanging by his belt.  
When he was crouched down by the water, the snow melting in his boots he heard a soft tune followed by another higher one. He looked up but didn’t see anyone. The boy slowly stood up and turned his head around, trying to figure where the sound was coming from.

‘It much be a flute,’ Stan thought and easily jumped over the stream of water, walking towards where he thought the music might come from. He moved aside branches that were covering his view, the snow softly falling to the ground. Stan fixed his hat when one of them snapped at his face and grunted. When he turned forwards he saw a light behind one of the trees in front of him. He moved his head to the left and there, in a glade there sat someone with his back to him, playing on his flute by the fire. Stan gasped and his heart sped up.

‘Don’t talk to strangers,’ his mother’s words repeated in his head. But Stan was too curious to leave now, plus the person looked around Stan’s size. Maybe it was someone who was lost? Stan looked around, suddenly aware of wolves that might be roaming around here He hadn’t seen any yet but he figured they might hear the flute or spot the fire. The sun was now touching the highest spruce tops. The light was orange and a bit pink and Stan thought the person looked really mythical. He slowly stepped forward and froze on his spot when the playing stopped. The person in front of his was absolutely still and apart from the fire cracking, the now and then chirping from some ptarmigan all Stan could hear was his heartbeat in his ears.

But then slowly the other moved and Stan looked at the other’s face. His head was bare, ‘much be cold for his ears!’ and his red, curly hair was lying against his forehead, sometimes moving slightly in the wind. Stan was pretty sure he could spot the eyes as green; the boy had freckles over his nose and cheeks, which were red from the cold. Stan guessed it was a boy either way, the person was clearly wearing pants at least. Back in their village most girls wore skirts with pants under of course, because apparently they were much warmer.

“Who are you?” the boy suddenly asked and Stan snapped his eyes up to the other again, not realizing when he dropped them. He coughed in his clothed hand and stepped forward from the trees.

“Stan,” he said snorted, his nose feeling a bit runny. It was probably really red, just like it got when it was really cold outside. Stan took another step to feel the heat from the fire but he wasn’t close enough.

“You can sit down, Stan, if you want to,” the other boy said and Stan found his voice so calming, like a hymn sung by the people when someone died, like grandpa a few months back. There had been women from the entire village standing by the cliff singing when they dropped his coffin in the ocean. Stan had been crying, he could admit that but so had his dad been, so it was okay. It was okay to cry when someone you loved died, Stan had told himself. Because that was the only time his father, his role model had cried, apart from once when he fought with Sharon, but Stan doesn’t remember that much, he was still too young.

Stan stepped forwards and sat to the right of the red-head, not too close but not on the opposite side either. He took off his mittens and put them on a rock, close to the fire. He thought about drying his boots too much he felt it was rude. This wasn’t his fire after all.

“Are you cold?” The other asked and Stan nodded as he spread his small finger in the air, holding them in front of the flames. He didn’t dare to look at the other boy too much, Stan would just blush further because this person might be one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen. Wendy was really beautiful, a lot of people thought so in his class and Stan was proud to know Wendy liked Stan. But this boy was stunning, his nose small and his lips looked so soft, a nude pink color. His eyes were big and green, his eyelashes long and thick. And dark. Stan saw that he had pointed ears and thought it was something very charming.

“What’s your name?” He whispered out after a while, his face was on fire now as the other boy didn’t take his eyes of Stan and the black-haired was too shy to face his gaze yet.

“Kyle,” the other said, simply and his voice sounded like music to Stan. He found himself scooting a little bit closer on the ground. The snow had melted in this opening, probably because of the sun peeking through the trees and Stan could feel the dried grass under his body with his naked fingers.

“Kyle,” Stan repeated and the other smiled and Stan felt his mouth open slightly.

“Do you live close to this place?” Stan asked carefully, as not to break the peaceful-ness of this place and slowly the boys got a conversation up, Stan’s words carefully chosen and almost a whisper now. He was sitting closer to Kyle now and he hadn’t even noticed so until just now, when their knees touched, side by side. Kyle’s ears were definitely pointed and they looked very different from his ears, but Stan thought it was pretty. His eyes were very green, like the grass in the summer, but his pupil was slightly oval, like a cat’s eye. It was only faint and he didn’t notice until he was really close up when suddenly their noses touched. Stan gasped out as he started into the other’s eyes and he swore he could hear a real hymn now playing around him, faint but it was there. But Stan kept all his focus on this boy in front of him, a warm feeling filling him. He breathed in, shakily and then he watched Kyle close his eyes slowly, his lashes falling over his cheeks and then he was leaning in.

Stan couldn’t close his eyes, at least not entirely and stayed absolutely still as Kyle’s lips touched his. He stayed like that for a while and Stan gasped in the air Kyle was breathing out, feeling a sudden tiredness filling him. The sun was behind him and it shone on the red-haired face, slowly disappearing over his eyes, his forehead and then his hair. It was getting dark now but the fire kept everything visible around them. At least that’s what Stan thought, he still hadn’t adverted his eyes, even though the boy was now leaning away, his lips in a smile. He felt the drowsiness land on his shoulders and he dropped his postures, his arms dropping and his eyelids slowly falling. He watched as Kyle brought a hand and closed his eyes when he felt it against his cheek, soft and warm and comfortable. There was something ringing in the back of his head, something warning but Stan ignored it, concentrating on the warm feeling on his cheek and in his chest.

“Oh Stan,” a soft voice said and Stan felt himself smile. Then he doesn’t remember much apart from slowly falling into the darkness. But it felt okay, because it was warm and comfortable and he felt okay. He felt enchanted, but it was okay. Everything was okay.

 

He woke up two days later, lying in his bed with a wet towel on his forehead. He groaned at the pain in his stomach, all his muscles screaming and he watched as Sharon arose her head from the bed, staring into Stan’s eyes with shock but also with glee.

“My son is awake,” she whispered as her eyes got teary and Stan didn’t know what to do. His hands were sweaty from under the second layer of blankets and he pulled them up, groaning at the extreme heat his body was in.

“Mom?” he asked, getting worried.

“Stan, my Stan,” she mumbled and grabbed his hands, holding them with her own. She kissed his hands and brought them to her cheek, the tears falling onto the bed. His father stepped into the room, looking at him through the doorway, his face filled with relief. He felt his eyelids start to fall again and he mumbled for water. He heard his dad’s footsteps disappearing and waited patiently for water. He kept his eyes closed, even as he felt the cup against his lips, a hand behind his head to keep him up. When he drank enough he dropped to the pillow again, moaning at the comfort.

“Oh, Stan,” his mother whispered and Stan was certain he recognized the phrase, but it sounded different this time.

 

The fever was gone in a week and Stan was up running with the other children the same day he was released from his bed. He felt better and he certainly looked better, his mother thought. She watched him play with Sparky and two other boys in front of their house, through the kitchen window and she smiled. A month later she would be standing in the same spot but this time her face was more worried. Stan wasn’t the same after that time they found him in the woods. He was lying on his side, shaking uncontrollably and Sharon had cried out immediately, yelling for the others who were also searching to come help them with her boy. They carried him home and Stan had never been so grateful to the forest gods when Stan opened his eyes.

She gripped her cup harder as she watched Stan sit on the stone in front of their stairs, looking towards the mountains. His black hair was moving in the wind, his hat clutched in his hand. Sharon knew, the second Stan opened his eyes that the Stan she had found in the woods was not the same as the Stan from that morning. The old ladies gossiped about the forest ladies, ghosts, elves and what not, that they had gotten to him, cursed and charmed him and almost killed him. Sharon had snapped at them and left the place, stomping home in rage. Nothing like that existed.

And yet, 40 years later, when she was sitting in her rocking chair, coughing from her illness she still watched Stan sit outside on the same rock, looking towards the dawn. She had lost her son many, many years ago and so had everyone left. There was no Stan left, only an empty shell who whispered about green eyes in his sleep, who longed towards the mountains but never left his mother’s side. She looked around their house, the late sun hitting the walls with photographs and pans hanging on them. It was empty and even though Stan was good at keeping everything clean and tidy she wasn’t pleased. Stan was like a stone, he would smile when he needed to but it wasn’t real, Sharon knew. As a child he was forbidden to ever enter the woods alone and since that he never did. He kept himself to the house, never getting far from it and Sharon hated seeing her son imprisoned by his own house.

She had tried to throw him out when he turned 20, tried to get him to talk to the women his age in the village but Stan was nice and polite but he was an empty shell, a body without a soul. He would nicely put the women down and soon enough they left him alone. He would sit, every night on that rock, looking into the sunset and Sharon would sometimes watch him. His father was long gone, the epidemic had gotten to him at an early age and Sharon had moved out, far, far away to her husband.

Stan was caught, he was enchanted by something out there and he has lost his soul, his life, his everything to whatever he met that day in the woods. Sharon was miserable but kept her feelings quiet. Sharon was worried indeed but she would never understand the true pain and longing that Stan was bound to, forever.

He would look into the forest, hearing a soft and faint familiar melody calling for him. He had followed the sound once, after his encounter with the elf but he hadn’t found anything. He knew what it was, Stan knew he had been charmed and death-bound to this creature. His heart and soul was stolen and he didn’t want anything more than to follow the melody, find the person that had a firm grip around Stan the moment he laid eyes on him.

Stan couldn’t do anything about the enchant because he loved the enchanter. His heart was cursed and Stan could never feel happiness again, only desire and agony. He had fallen right into Kyle’s trap and his life was not his anymore, he knew that.

The boy was caught the moment he laid his sight on those forest-green eyes and his thoughts were only a thick fog in his mind, his body screamed in pain but all he could do was smile, close his eyes and whisper for the one he gave his heart to and got nothing in return.


End file.
